


New Horizons

by Indis



Category: Harlots (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack Treated Seriously, F/M, Friendship/Love, Loneliness, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-08 00:13:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16418747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Indis/pseuds/Indis
Summary: Daniel doesn't sail to America. When he has no one else to turn to, it's Fanny who offers him friendship.





	New Horizons

Daniel Marney had intended to sail for America. In moments of pain and uncertainty he murmured the name like a mantra. _America._ There... _something_ would happen to let him know his place in the world. 

It was only when he arrived at Falmouth Harbour, and stood before the sea, that Daniel knew he wouldn’t make the journey. He had seen the sea before, when he first sailed to England. The voyage from Ireland had been miserable and sodden and cramped. Daniel could still recall the way the ship’s timbers had creaked as he tried to sleep, the mumbled prayers of the other passengers that never ceased. He had endured because the crossing had been relatively short, and England, for lack of anything else, was _real_. America still felt like a dream, one of his childhood fantasies he had indulged through the tedium of a life of poverty in a rural hamlet.

As he watched grey waves churn under an iron grey sky, Daniel’s knees shook a little. He imagined storms that dragged him down to the depths, black clouds and black water the last things his dying eyes saw. He imagined coming to America, and being just as directionless and purposeless as he had been in England, and Ireland before that.

The harbourmaster hailed him. ‘Oi! Ye here for the passage to Rhode Island? Better hurry, for boarding is soon!’

Daniel made his answer.

* * *

He found himself that night in a tavern not far from the harbour. Workers and sailors filled the small space with their shouts and cheers, drowning their precious leisure time in the bitter swill the barman dolled out and games of chance that broke out in fisticuffs more often than not.

Daniel drank until he saw double and spent a good chunk of his meagre savings on cards. Somehow his luck held and he came out of the game richer than he had started. He had little time to indulge in his victory, for a friend of the man Daniel had just won against threw a punch that Daniel would have had no trouble avoiding if he was sober. For all that it was a clumsy punch, it caught Daniel on the edge of his jaw, jarring his teeth painfully and cutting his cheek on their sharp edges. Rage overcame the little that remained of sense, and Daniel launched himself at his attacker.

It was a pitiful fight, Daniel in his cups and the attacker useless with his fists. Someone from the crowd that had gathered to watch hauled them apart. ‘Who started this mess?’

Another man who had seen the start answered. Daniel’s attacker was dragged away by his embarrassed friend, and the crowd dispersed with disappointed mumbling that the altercation had been cut short.

With slow, swaying steps Daniel made his way to the room he had rented upstairs earlier. It would have been generous to call the room a broom cupboard: a tiny cot was squeezed against the wall, and when Daniel opened the door it caught against the edge of the cot and wouldn’t open the whole way. Without even the energy to take off his boots or coat, Daniel flung himself on the mattress. The wood gave an alarming squeak under his weight.

So, here he was. In the end, he hadn’t had the courage to make the leap, to brave the distant horizon of the Atlantic for America. This was to be his life, drink and cards and the pain of a fist in his face that couldn’t disguise the pain in his heart.

Unbidden, the image of Charlotte’s face came to mind, and he remembered a night only a few weeks ago, when he had slept curled against her with her curls tickling his neck. Daniel ended up sobbing himself to sleep, feeling more wrecked and sorry than he could ever recall. He woke stiffly the next morning, eyes sore and gummed shut, throat parched, and dying for a piss.

Was this to be his lot forever? Pining away for what he had not had the courage to seize, eking out his days in these human cesspits, not enough liquor in the world to drown out his sea of sorrows?

* * *

For lack of any other direction, Daniel made his shamefaced way back to London. Penniless, he earned his passage back in whatever way presented itself, helping farmers’ carts and merchants’ wagons, even selling his body when he could do with the extra coin. London finally loomed into view, a shitstain on the horizon if Daniel had ever seen one. Still, it was all he really knew. In London, he had known moments of happiness that had been elusive even back in his childhood home.

He returned to his old jobs. Mornings at the docks and evenings ferrying fine ladies in palanquins to and fro from their towering townhouses to ballrooms and opera houses . His old friends laughed when they saw his return. ‘Thought you were off to America, Daniel? They hated you that much they shipped you right back, did they?’ Some of the better-natured men clasped his shoulder when they saw his misery and invited him to drinks that left him feeling worse more often than not. But it was a life, of a sort.

Sometimes, when her memory didn’t send pain jolting through his chest, he thought of Charlotte. He wondered if she was still trapped at Quigley’s side, or if she had made her way home safely. It was a bad idea, but the more he ruminated the more his desire grew to see her one last time, just to reassure himself as to her fate. A small, insistent voice at the back of his mind taunted that one tantalising glance at Charlotte would bring on another, and another, until he was enthralled in her web once again.

Daniel was a fool, and gave in to temptation.

Soho was just as he remembered, bustling with people diluted to the purest essence of vice. Criminals, addicts, prostitutes. Daniel pressed through the throng, recognising some among the multitudes and wondering if they remembered him too. It was a surprisingly depressing thought that he might be just another nameless face in the crowd.

And then someone called his name.

‘Is that you, Mr Marney?’ Daniel spun round, receiving insults and curses as he jostled and halted those behind him. To the side of the road, a loaf of bread in her arms, was the jolly girl from Margaret Wells’ house, red hair windswept and round pretty face reddened by the chilly air.

The gesture of recognition seemed the kindest action in the world to Daniel in that moment, and he hurried over to her. It was easy to put on his charming grin and greet her genially, hiding his pleasure. ‘Morning, miss. I don’t believe I remember your name.’

‘Fanny. Fanny Lambert,’ she smiled as he tipped his hat at her. ‘It’s been months since we saw you, and I wondered what happened to you. I’m glad to see you’re all right.’

‘That’s very kind of you, Fanny.’ He fell into step with her as she started walking again. ‘I take it you’re heading back to the Wells’ house? Would it be any trouble for me to accompany you?’

‘Not at all! It’s always nice to see old friends again.’

‘I take it everyone is doing well? Charlotte and her sister and Mrs Wells?’ The name of Charlotte’s mother was bitter on his tongue, remembering the shit she’d landed him in to try and save her own neck, but he didn’t want to seem too eager.

Fanny’s face whitened, and she came to a sudden stop. ‘You don’t know, do you?’

Daniel’s stomach dropped inside him. When he spoke, his voice was tight. ‘What happened?’

A thousand horrific scenarios ran through his mind. _Oh Charlotte, how could I leave you? We should have left there and then!_

‘Mrs Wells...Mrs Wells is dead.’

The relief that swelled in Daniel was like a tide, almost enough to knock him off his feet. Dimly, he was aware that he should feel at least some sympathy, but Margaret Wells had had no qualms about sending him to his death. Still, she was Charlotte’s mother. ‘How?’

‘Hung. Two months ago. She confessed to the murder of that lord, the same one you and Charlotte were put up in the gaol for.’

 _That_ surprised Daniel. _What goes around comes around._ A small flame of pity kindled, though. The love of a mother could be a terrible thing when roused, he supposed. Enough to condemn an innocent man for the crimes of another. Enough to sacrifice yourself for your daughter.

‘I take it Charlotte’s all right?’

‘Well, I wouldn’t say all right. She gets on with it as there’s no other choice really. She’s so busy now she runs the house.’

They turned onto Greek Street, and the Wells house loomed into view. Charlotte was so close now, but Daniel’s feet slowed of their own accord. He was back at the harbour again, staring into the great unknown. For so many nights he had longed for Charlotte, but there was no assurance she felt the same. His courage deserted him. Better to leave now than to know for certain that he was unwelcome in her home.

‘I...I can’t-’ He was backing away, Fanny’s astonished stare following his unsteady steps.

‘Mr Marney, are you all right?’

‘I must go. I’m sorry Fanny.’ He turned, prepared to run and never turn back.

But something held him back.

He looked over his shoulder, and Fanny was still stood in the middle of the street. Her expression was one of concern, and it was this that drew out his next words.

‘Would you like...would it be all right with you if I see you again some time, Fanny? You’re one of the few people who have any kind words for me.’ He chuckled self-deprecatingly.

She hesitated, and Daniel’s stomach sank. Just as he thought she would turn down his offer, she smiled. A small smile, very gentle, yet Daniel’s spirits rose at being its object.

‘Of course. Till we meet again.’


End file.
